Tuesday, September 28, 2010

In Which I Contemplate A Career Change And Come To A Rather Messy Conclusion

As a mom of two children ages three and under, I've taken myself out of the job market. Instead, I spend my days doing a variety of mundane tasks all while reenacting the Winnie the Pooh story where Rabbit and Pooh and Piglet decide to get rid of Kanga and Roo by stealing baby Roo and replacing him with Piglet but then realize that they can all be friends in the end, but not after Piglet is given a bath and a cookie. Strangely enough, some days I dream of more....

So like the organized person I've become, I've made a list of all the jobs I am currently acquiring a skill set in.

Vegetarian Chef
Salary: $32,000/year

Will knowing 20 different ways to prepare mac and cheese get me a raise?

Salary: $40,000/year

Since I have actually taught in a classroom, "Bwaaahhahhaha!! Hee, hee, hee, heeeeeeeeeeeee....That's not funny."

Groom of the Stool, aka Poop Wiper
Salary: 50 Pounds/ year under the reign of King Edward VI (1537-1553)

Apparently I CAN'T get a job wiping the Queen of England's butt anymore since the first Queen Elizabeth decided to get all independent and start doing it herself. I was overly qualified anyway.

Barista at Steamy Grounds Espresso, aka Boob Flasher
Salary: $17,000/year

I drink A TON of coffee and I breastfeed Ellie. I'm thinkin' it's about time I get paid for it.

So which of these exciting opportunities is going to be my new career path?

None of the above.

I've found something better!

Competitive Eater
Salary: $50,000/year

However, I do have two questions for the International Federation of Competitive Eating before joining their sport circuit.

1) Can Sonya Thomas, aka The Black Widow, eat 37 hot dogs in 12 minutes while arguing with Katie about eating her mashed potatoes, holding a screaming and pinching Ellie and stalk people on Facebook at the same time? Because if not, I totally OWN HER!

2) Can I bring my own Tofurky?

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

This Post Is For All The Conspiracy Theorists In The Room!

Me: (In my best Kris Kross voice) All you conspiracy theorists out there, can I get a WOOT!

You: (crickets)

Me: (Optimistically jumping like Kris Kross) How about a WOOT! WOOT!

You: ...um...woot?...

Me: Thanks guys. That's not embarrassing. Nooooooo. Not at all.

How "Major Credit Card Corporation"
Tried To
Kill Me

While headed out the door with my hands full of infant seat carrier, diaper bag, water bottle and Fuzzy Bear I lie to "Major Credit Card Corporation" about writing down their phone number to have Jon call them back. (I also do this to the blood bank when they call. Mostly because I'm evil.)

"Major Credit Card Corporation" knows I haven't given the message to Jon and calls back anyway. They speak for 20 minutes. "Major Credit Card Corporation" tries in vain to get Jon to tell them his birth date, the name of his first pet and the last four digits of his Social Security number. Jon tries to convince "Major Credit Card Corporation" that they are a scam. Neither the employee nor their supervisor agrees. Jon hangs up.

The girls and I go shopping for clothes that don't show off Katie's skinny little belly button where I DO NOT use "Major Credit Card Corporation's" card but do buy four shirts, eight pairs of socks and one pair of dress shoes with flowers.

We arrive at Roundish Table Pizza where their computers weirdly stop working just as we order. A diaper change, 1 1/2 personal pizzas, and a snack for Ellie later we try to leave. Because I'm not a kangaroo and therefore have to carry all my own baby crap (Yeah. Thanks God.) I can't seem to open the door labeled "To Remain Unlocked During Business Hours". For like five minutes. Eventually some employee* of the pizza place shuffles over and mumbles something about having a FREON leak and needing to lock the doors. So no one can leave. At all. Unless they wave their hands up in the air and wave them like they just don't care! (Sorry. That was a reference to my Kris Kross impersonation at the beginning of the post. It won't happen again. Probably. Or not. Your choice.)

So let me break it down for all of you who don't think Elvis is alive. (Which he totally is by the way. I saw a Inside Edition about it once in junior high.) We refused to give out personal information about ourselves to "Major Credit Card Corporation" so they took away the Internet and tried to KILL US ALL by creating a poisonous gas leak and barricading the doors at a pizza place we rarely go to. Yeah.... That moon landing is looking pretty suspicious the more I think about it.

*Or a "Major Credit Card Corporation Undercover Pizza Employee". Or a zombie. It was hard to tell.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

How I Turned Into A Potato

I've been busy these last few weeks or so. Katie started Montessori school, Ellie grew, Jon shared some snot disease with us all and I jumped through fire!

And hurdled logs floating in neck deep water! And scrambled over Armageddon abandoned cars! And scaled a cargo net like a pirate! And ran up steep hills (OK, walked but they were really steep hills)! And finally, slithered through a mud bog under barbed wire!

All for a medal and a banana.

As well as the chance to engage in smack talk with my husband that went something like this:

Me: Dude! You're first real medal! Isn't it awesome!
Jon: What do you mean? I have medals.
Me: But not like, real medals for sweating and stuff. Those are just high school Academic Decathlon medals.
Jon: You're just jealous because you couldn't be in AcDec.
Me: What do you mean, couldn't???? Did you just call me stupid?
Jon: I mean the math. There was no way you could have done the math.
Me: searing him with an evil obtuse look (which is a geometry term so obviously my math skills are totally quantitative and not sub par)
Jon: What?! It's true!
Me: Your momma.*

And finally, at the end of the day when all the little warriors and their Dora backpacks

were nestled snug in their hotel beds, like a potato, I scrubbed and scrubbed but the dirt just kept coming.

* Is there an online tutorial for smack talk? Because we may need it.